by S. E. Harmon
“You mean ‘the gays’ should go back into hiding, right? Like there’s something wrong with it? You should be able to talk about and celebrate your spouse, but when ‘the gays’ do it, it’s putting it in your face?”
“I didn’t mean it that way. Stop being so fucking sensitive.” His bushy eyebrows slashed together like he couldn’t believe I was being so sensitive and gay. “I just don’t see why we have to announce it to the world.”
“Well, trust me, I’m not exactly thrilled about it. I’d like to keep my private life exactly that. But I was outside on my private property, and there might be a picture of me kissing someone—someone male.” Even though I was determined to be mature about it, I could feel my cheeks flame.
“Let me guess. Kelly Cannon?” Ari furrowed his brow.
“Why do you say that?” I hedged. I wasn’t ready to throw Kelly to the wolves just yet.
“I knew it. There’s always been something too close about your relationship with him. No way you were just friends.”
I shrugged wearily. He wasn’t exactly wrong. Apparently the only people who hadn’t known we were in a committed relationship with one another was Kelly and me.
“Maybe this doesn’t have to be the worst thing in the world,” Ari ventured, clearly over his shock. “We might be able to parlay this into some endorsement deals.”
“My relationship is not a way for you to get some good LGBTQ press.”
“I didn’t say it was. But if you’re planning on staying in the NFL, you have to understand there’s a lot of people who aren’t going to like it.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Coach muttered.
“You have an opportunity here,” Trent reminded us all, “to not only show you’re a progressive team, but how you feel about disenfranchised groups.”
As long as I kept my starting position, I didn’t care if they were talking about me as though I had a mop of red hair and was waiting for Daddy Warbucks to show up. “I couldn’t agree more,” I said.
“Well, you’re going to need someone to manage this situation. You think you’re a hot commodity now? Just wait. For every endorsement deal you lose, there’s going to be something to take its place.” Ari’s eyes gleamed at the thought of the challenge.
“Ari, I don’t want to be turned into a circus act. I’ve always been and will always be about my love of football. And if we don’t talk about it, maybe—”
He barked an incredulous laugh. “I really think you believe that.”
“What’s not to believe?”
“Press is like energy, Blue. You don’t create it, and you damn sure can’t destroy it. You can only manipulate and direct it.” He shook his head. “What do you think I do for my ten percent? Sit here with my thumb up my ass? You may hate your father—”
“I don’t hate my father—”
“But he hired me to make you into a media darling, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. I’ve worked my ass off for you, Blue. All your negative media press into media gold.” He waved his fingers. “All due to me.”
“Negative media?” I scowled at him. “You act like I’ve been fucking underage hookers while snorting up cocaine. I’m not exactly a wild child.”
“No? That wasn’t you who got caught with pot in your senior year at Florida State? Or you who blew off a press junket to take your girlfriend to Antigua? You didn’t have two girls come forward with pregnancy scares?”
“That was just about money, and you know it.”
He ignored my heated reply, clearly hell-bent on exposing how difficult a client I’d been without even knowing it. “Obviously it must’ve been someone else who wrecked his Suzuki motorcycle on the interstate with one of the team dancers on the back.”
“Fraternization,” Coach muttered, clearly put out, six fucking years later, that I’d had the nerve to dip my pen in the company ink. As though I were the only guy on the team who ignored that rule. I didn’t bother to point that out. It was clearly “Take a Dump on Blue” day. Besides, I wasn’t a snitch.
“I’d like to point out that Becca was fine—only a sprained wrist.” I sullenly glared at them. “You’ve made your point.”
Ari was still on his soapbox. “And the injuries. Good God, the fucking injuries—”
“I get it,” I said through gritted teeth. “Are you trying to get me canned? Or will that just be a delicious side effect?”
“I’m just trying to tell you about negative press.”
“I can handle it.”
“I have no doubt you can. But what about Kelly? When this breaks, the media….” Ari shook his head. “Oh man.”
“Like poking an ant hill,” Barnes muttered.
“Like face-planting in an anthill,” Ari corrected. “With honey on your nutsack.”
Kelly wasn’t a delicate flower. Hell, he had bigger cojones than I ever did. With the notable exception of his family, he’d been out a hell of a lot longer than I had. I had to be forced out of the closet with a picture—the press’s version of a long, pointy stick. He came out voluntarily. The stuff he’d had to put up with would probably make my hair turn gray.
But what about on a national scale? People would call him fag to his face… blame him for our team’s ups and downs. Maybe some rabid fan would even take the opportunity to get him alone and get some payback. It was enough to make my acerbic reply dry up in my mouth.
Ari could tell he’d clearly scored some points. But like any good agent, he knew not to gloat. He just sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and polished one Gucci loafer. He wasn’t going anywhere, and he knew it.
Trent cleared his throat. “So we’re all in agreement about what’s going to happen here?”
There were begrudging nods all around. Done polishing his already pristine loafer, Ari folded his arms. “We probably need to get legal up here. I’m thinking a sensitivity training workshop for the players would be a good place to start. Maybe on a Tuesday.”
I cringed. Sweet baby Jesus. I tried to picture being the topic of a workshop on sensitivity. On their one day off? Was he crazy? I tried to picture Rakevik and Diesel being forced to act out a scenario on treating one another properly in the workplace, and my stomach lurched. I’d hate me for that alone.
If that didn’t do the trick, giving up a few hours of their already jam-packed schedules to go over the proper terms for the LGBTQ community ought to be the icing on the cake. And if it was one of the workshops with the puppets and the trust exercises, I wouldn’t have to worry about the press—I’d have a bomb in the wheel well of my Navigator by noon.
From the look on Coach’s face, he realized it too. We spoke quickly, our voices in near unison. “I don’t think that’s necessary—”
Ari cut us off with a hard look and pointed at me. “If you don’t, you might as well embrace the nickname fag right now. Put it on your fucking jersey, right above your numbers, because that’s what you’ll answer to.”
Barnes nodded, his fingers steepled. “You might have something there.”
I threw up my hands. “You really think a workshop is going to smooth things over?”
Barnes sent me a simmer-down look, so I simmered down. “Sensitivity training doesn’t change anyone’s mind, but it lets them know the boundaries and what we’ll do to enforce them.”
I was starting to feel a little sweaty in my Under Armour shirt. Moisture wicking, my ass.
Barnes hit a button on his desk phone and his secretary’s crisp voice filtered over the speaker. “What can I help you with, Mr. Barnes?”
“I need Alex from PR down here.”
“I think she’s in a meeting.”
“Not anymore, she’s not.” He dropped the handset and let out a little sigh. “And so it begins.”
“This is going to be a logistical nightmare.” Coach pressed his hands against his eyes again, as though just talking about it was enough to give him a migraine. He blew out a slow breath. “But as long as it doesn’t affect your game, we�
��re behind ya.”
Not trying to replace me with a twenty-three-year-old rookie who comes with a lower price tag? Someone younger, less beat-up, and a lot less jaded?
I bit my tongue to keep the words from falling out. We’d deal with that when the time came. Right then, even though Coach was looking at me like I had a few screws loose, he was saying exactly what I wanted to hear.
I forced the words out. “Thank you.”
But his next words made my blood run cold. “We should have a team meeting and announce this before it gets out. It’ll be better to hear it from us.”
I would rather have a root canal. In every single tooth. My slightly sweaty situation started to ramp up into something that would probably require reapplication of deodorant.
“Blue?”
I looked up to find Ari gazing at me shrewdly. “Yeah?”
“Is that what you want to do?”
Was it?
It was one of the biggest questions I’d been asked in my life. It shouldn’t matter who I slept with or when. One day, progress being what it was, I hoped no one would have to have a big gay coming-out or a bisexual coming-out. It would just be what it was, and that would be that. But we weren’t quite there yet.
Hopefully the PC police would keep the media supportive, no matter what they really thought and said at home. And I knew the league would say all the right things too… just like I knew there would be consequences to putting my sexuality out there.
Suddenly guys wouldn’t want to be in the locker room with me because I might be eyeing their junk. As if. Every joke about homos and queers and all that shit would be directed at me. Some of them might not associate with me at all if they didn’t have to. The easy camaraderie, slapping each other on the ass for a good play? Everything would be scrutinized.
My stomach fluttered. I felt like I was turning in my guy pass. And why should that be? Why should being bisexual make me any less of a man in their eyes? But even as I worried about what the world would think, more important thoughts wormed their way in—the people in my life who mattered most of all.
Kelly’s parents would probably just roll their eyes and say, “It’s about time.” I smiled a little as I imagined his mother reaching up to rearrange my hair and saying, “I wanted to tell you that you’d be a perfect match for Kelly, but I was having too much fun watching you bumble around and be miserable. Bless your heart.” His father would probably offer me one of those peppers he’s always growing and slap me on the back. “I would welcome you to the family, Blue, but you’ve been family for a long time. Also I ate the summer sausage out of your welcome basket. Don’t tell Kelly Ann.”
My father would probably go apoplectic. He’d probably scream that I was besmirching the legend—the football dynasty. My brother? Once he got over his disgust, he’d probably be ecstatic. He could take my place in my father’s miserly affections.
My team? Ivanovich knew, and he was my rock. Dane had already proven that he had my back. I was pretty sure Diesel had guessed or at least had some inkling. It certainly wouldn’t be a surprise to McAdams—not since I’d almost taken his head off for having the temerity to actually go out with Kelly once upon a time. Maybe a couple of the other guys would be okay too. But Rakevik and Green and Roshon and Deandre? Wellington? Martindale? Thinking about the group looking at me as I made the announcement—or took the coward’s way out and had Coach do it—made me nervous.
Okay, fuck deodorant—at this point, I need a new shirt.
And then I thought about Kelly. My Kelly. I thought of how patient he’d been. I could almost see him looking up at me with that little head tilt he always did, his gray eyes soft with understanding, not judgment. He would be proud of me—flabbergasted, yeah, but also proud. If I wanted to be with him, I needed to man the fuck up and do this.
I swallowed thickly. “Yes. Let’s get it over with.”
As we waited for legal, we discussed my future at the organization and what would be right for me. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had a say.
CHAPTER 22
Kelly
IT WAS official—I hated watching Blue play, even when he did well.
At least I wasn’t alone. My parents came down to my house to watch with me. They often had little gatherings on Sundays to watch Blue play, and I volunteered my place. It gave my father an excuse to watch sports and my mother an excuse to repeatedly point out Blue on the field and tell all her friends “that’s my kid”—something that annoyed Kennedy and me to no end. The parties also gave her a chance to make her famous bacon-onion dip, which was something Kennedy and I appreciated to no end.
Since that was the game that decided whether the Outlaws went to the playoffs, my parents went all-out with the snacks and decorations. I puttered about, helping Kennedy with the drinks and stealing snacks from every appetizer tray I delivered to the living room.
Suddenly the room erupted in a cheer, and I jerked my gaze back to the screen. The Outlaws had scored, and I took that opportunity to bogart the bacon dip since no one was watching. Then a flag on the play dampened the mood of the room, and everyone groaned in unison.
“Oh, come on,” my dad yelled. “That ref’s gotta be blind.”
I usually went to the Outlaws’ home games, but when I offered, Blue was shady and nervous about it. He told me he’d rather I not go, and I frowned but obliged. Football players were a superstitious lot. If he thought he’d play better without me there, it was the least I could do.
Things were still a little tense between us. Since the whole picture situation at the lake house, I wasn’t sure where his head was. I just knew he looked thoughtful a lot of the time, and when I asked him what he was thinking or feeling, he looked like he might tell me… but then he’d shake his head and say nothing. I knew he was busy making big decisions up there in his head, and I wasn’t going to push either way, even though we both knew what outcome I wanted.
After the snap it looked like Vaughn was going to try the same play again, and he sent a beauty of a pass spiraling to Blue. He caught the ball with steady, sure hands as though it were that easy. Just as my mouth stretched into a grin, a blur came flying in from the left.
I couldn’t look away as they collided like two semis on a highway and their helmets struck against each other. Blue’s helmet flew off as he came down, and he bounced and landed like a broken doll. My breath caught in my chest. Get up. Please get up.
He didn’t move.
“Ohhh,” the announcer cried. “Looks like a shot to the head. Barrow is going to be flagged for this. This is definitely going to put the Outlaws within field-goal range.”
A flag went down, and suddenly the field was crowded with personnel—coaches and trainers and players from both teams. It was chaos. The ref calling out penalties—unnecessary roughness and several others that made the home crowd cheer—and they replayed the hit.
“That hit was flagrant,” one of the announcers said grimly. “Out of control. Watch how violently Montgomery’s head hits the ground.”
“That looks like suspensions and fines,” the other announcer agreed. “Looks like there’s some movement from Montgomery down on the field.”
If you wanted to call twitching shoes movement, I guess the announcer was right. They brought out a stretcher—a fucking stretcher—and my breath suddenly rattled in my chest. I dragged air into my lungs as though I were a thirty-year smoker taking a long hit. At some point I’d actually stopped breathing.
“Kel?” Kennedy’s hand landed on the back of my neck as I struggled for air.
“Can’t breathe,” I whispered.
“Look,” Kennedy demanded. “Look at the TV.”
“I don’t want to see him like that. I don’t—”
“Look,” she said insistently. “He’s fine. He’s sitting up.”
I risked a glance back at the screen in time to see the trainer encourage Blue back down. I watched as they strapped him to the stretcher. “That’s not
fine,” I burst out. “They’re carrying him off.”
“They’re doing that as a precaution,” Kennedy said. She nudged my shoulder with hers. For my antitactile sister, that was as close to a warm hug as she got. “He’s probably okay. He might even come back in the fourth quarter.”
Not if there was a God in heaven, he wouldn’t. In my world, when you were down, you fucking stayed down. I sat with my knee jostling Kennedy’s until she gave me the stink eye. I pushed off the couch and paced. When I crossed in front of the TV one too many times, I was asked to remove myself. At least that was how I interpreted all the shouting.
I headed out to the patio, where my mother was chucking ice in coolers. I hurried to take the bag of ice and got into a brief struggle with her. When I finally wrenched it from her grasp, I said graciously, “Here, let me do that.”
She glared. “Brat. I suppose I should say thank you.”
“So you do have manners.”
She popped me on the butt, and I yelped. “What was all the shouting about earlier?”
“Blue got hurt.” I tried to sound normal, but my throat felt a little raw, and I was grateful for the racket the ice made as I poured. It gave me a few minutes to recover. “I don’t know how bad it is.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“The not knowing makes it worse.”
“Trust me, I know.”
“How could you possibly….” When I looked at her, there was a wealth of understanding in her gaze. All those nights waiting for my father to check in had taken their toll. She was the wife of a former firefighter, so she definitely understood.
I sighed as I crumpled the wet plastic bag in my fingers. “How did you stand it?”
She smiled. “Firefighting is in his blood, right along with his love of saving people. It’s part of what makes him the man I fell in love with. How could I not let him do what made him the happiest?”
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do that.”
